


Of Beds And Pals

by DancerInTheMoonlight



Series: And They Lived [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, Blaine Anderson-centric, Caring Sebastian, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancerInTheMoonlight/pseuds/DancerInTheMoonlight
Summary: "Sebastian’s niece Alizée arrived with him from Paris a little over a month ago, and everything had been under some kind of inexplicable strain ever since then; a mixture of novelty, chance encounters, talking to dogs, cold cases, subjects deliberately unmentioned, a lot of French, and all three of them tiptoeing around each other."
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe
Series: And They Lived [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954504
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Of Beds And Pals

**Author's Note:**

> Old, new, borrowed, blue... Completel new fics are a-coming, promise! Until then-

In the mind of Blaine Anderson, nothing was worse than staying in bed on a bright and sunny day.

Staying in bed on a bright and sunny day _because you were sick_ exceeded all levels of tragic.

He tried to voice his pathos on multiple occasions in this loop of drifting into sleep and staring into the ceiling in between delightfully choking on his own mucus that was currently his life, but encountered only a deep lack of understanding.

“I doubt anyone enjoys being sick,” said Sebastian (these days his self-proclaimed caretaker and then _supervisor_ , and _then_ boyfriend), fluffing up pillows and rearranging them unceremoniously behind Blaine’s back. “You’re lucky it only progressed this far,” he added, rearranging the curtains too, so that Blaine could at least keep the illusion of horrid, uninviting weather. He tried to protest but the effect was considerably ruined by yet another coughing fit. Sebastian’s gaze turned dead serious.

“So help me, Blaine, I will tie you down to this bed if you put one toe out of it while I’m gone unless it’s bathroom-related,” he announced menacingly, and then left for work.

It would have been funny if not for the glint of terror in Sebastian’s eyes, showing in the way that they were open wide when he announced it, perfectly visible under a shield of steely determination that was his entire stance. Everything about him suggested he’d been prepared to literally restrain Blaine if need be.

Blaine decided to be a good boy, though, and let it go.

Here he was, and here he’d stay. The bed didn’t bother him, anyway. Much. But not for that much longer, he hoped.

He’d been cataloguing the phases of his nagging illness because there had been nothing better to do (or at least nothing that he’d been _allowed_ to do).

Phase no. 1: The Fatigue-And-Fever. Preceded by an irritable throat (the effect not too far off from that one would experience if someone suddenly decided to ram their face into the hottest, sandiest of dunes in the Gobi desert), plus a _disgustingly_ runny nose (there’s some rain in the desert, too), followed by the torments of hell. Fluttering in and out of consciousness makes it difficult to determine time.

No. 2: The Blow-Your-Brains-Out-(But Not The Fun Kind) Phase. A never-ending process of filling tissues upon tissues with slime and mucus in all shades on the yellow spectre, once you’ve stopped passing out in the middle of coughing fits. Keeping down the supreme amount of liquid you’re constantly required to swallow for rehydration purposes proves a special skill to be mastered. Special care not to split your skull in the process.

No. 3: The I-Can’t-Breathe Phase. Still occasionally coughing the life out of you while trying not to drown in your own goo, tons of liquid required, only now with a _bonus_ of the said goo becoming beautifully resistant to any attempts at blowing it out and your nose clogging up whenever your eyes shut so much as a wink. No nose means no breathing. No breathing means no sleeping. No sleeping equals HEADACHE. Also, clogged-up sinuses? HEADACHE. Say hello to Tylenol, your only true friend.

No. 4: The I-Just-Can’t Phase (or sometimes more colloquially known as the Please-Let-Me-Die). It’s the one in between, when you’ve had too much Tylenol and can’t stand another thought of anything liquid even though the entire length of your respiratory tract actually feels worse than the Gobi desert effect you had going on before for all the breathing that’s been done through your mouth instead of your nose. Plus, everything hurts and you just want the end to be near. Thankful for everyone who brings you food. Especially if it’s chicken soup. That they, incidentally, made themselves.

No. 5: The Everything-Hurts-But-At-Least-I-Can-Breathe-Now Phase. Sort of. Your nose has been slowly un-clogging itself, so some sleep is manageable in between random, verging-on-bulimic coughing fits and the odd, successful _blow_ -job. Because you discover that being able to breathe through your nose once again after a long while is _completely and utterly_ _orgasmic an experience_. And even the worst of puns are just hilarious because now you can finally breathe.

No. 6: The I-Keep-Blowing(-My-Nose)-To-No-Avail Phase. Now that you’ve gotten used to it, breathing through your nose is not such orgasmic an experience anymore. Keeps you thinking how would be _truly_ orgasmic if only you could – _just_ – get it out of your nasal cavity, where it seems to have evolved into a gummy, elastic substance, clinging to the insides of your face as if it was meant to be there all along.

The worst was over, though, and Blaine estimated was now deeply set into No. 7: The Fine-But-Not-Quite Phase. Nothing really hurt anymore, he felt almost fully rested, and was now stuck in sort of a limbo between Phase No. 6 and The Final Phase: Back-To-Normal, where he was incapable of blowing out the remaining goo but felt pretty much capable of everything else.

Too bad Sebastian didn’t share that opinion.

Blaine suspected it was the fever’s doing, of which he couldn’t remember much, not even collapsing into bed. Just the feel of cold hands against his face and glints of green he tried to catch with his too heavy arms, and a pitter-patter of paws, or maybe little feet, or maybe both. He wasn’t sure.

Sometimes, there’d been a voice, like gurgle of a stream, and those fleeting glints of green might have been a forest canopy.

In the more lucid stages of his illness, Blaine had been aware of Sebastian’s lowered voice answering a little girl’s whispered questions. Sometimes, the voice was soothing but other times it had an edge to it, one which spoke volumes of Sebastian’s over-worked-ness, the one he tried to hide. Like a sea he plunged in, hoping it might cast him out to some brighter, newer shore.

Sebastian’s niece Alizée arrived with him from Paris a little over a month ago, and everything had been under some kind of inexplicable strain ever since then; a mixture of novelty, chance encounters, talking to dogs, cold cases, subjects deliberately unmentioned, a lot of French, and all three of them tiptoeing around each other.

Sebastian took on more cases, under pretext he had to get back in the game after a longer leave. But there was no forensic solution for this complicated case of old relationships being severed and new ones being forged. Alizée was turning six soon and couldn’t go to school until September, which was a good few months away. Blaine couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad thing, since the girl seemingly didn’t speak a word of English. He considered it quite a barrier in approaching her, mainly because it made difficult discovering what she _really_ liked.

Alizée was a polite, somewhat unnaturally quiet kid, and that was it. Like something you order out of a catalogue. Sebastian assured him she was fine and stopped paying attention, but Blaine couldn’t help but feel relieved when he glimpsed the girl sometimes addressing their (or _Blaine’s_ , Sebastian would say) overly curious and quite talkative canine resident. At least there was someone she opened up to.

This also led to staying in the same room as Blaine more and more frequently, since Garbo liked to keep Blaine in her line of sight, as dogs do. Now, when Blaine was sick and bedridden, the pair were a regular sight, even though Alizée never stuck around for long. Not for a lack of compassion but because Sebastian probably told her not to disturb him. Sebastian himself moved to the couch for a couple of days.

Which was all fine while he’d been in and out of consciousness, running a high fever, but now Blaine was in this final, excruciatingly boring stage when all he could to do was blow his nose and suffer an occasional coughing fit, and yearn for company, otherwise perfectly clear-minded and well-rested. Bored to the brink of insanity.

Blaine got up, intent on at least creating the illusion of being free to walk around the apartment. Garbo raised her head from her spot on the floor and let out a whine, the traitor.

“Relax, dog-patrol,” Blaine huffed her way. “I’m not going to collapse from changing my own sheets.” Garbo grumbled a sigh and laid her head back against her front paws.

Upon changing the bedding entirely, Blaine felt much better. He was still feeling fresh from the shower he took earlier in the afternoon, and this felt like a final step into new life. If only he could take an actual step outside. Sebastian left for a ‘quick’ stop at the office a few hours ago but might be back any time now, and Blaine didn’t want to risk it. Besides, he couldn’t leave their little French catalogue child all on her own, could he?

 _Their_ _child_. God, that sounded weird, even in thought.

Alizée peered inside around the door just as he was settling back into bed with his laptop. Sebastian wouldn’t hear of a TV-set in the bedroom and Blaine didn’t feel like dragging himself all the way to the big screen facing the couch, now that he had crisp new sheets to provide some comfort in his prison.

Garbo perked up, wagging her tail.

“Hello,” Blaine greeted cheerfully, before she decided to duck out of the room. She froze, her hand on the handle, but gave a polite smile. Blaine smiled back and, used to that kind of reaction, continued as if they’d been having an actual conversation with words. “Come in— How lovely of you to stop by,” he said, ushering her with movements of one hand, the other one typing away. “I gotta say, your timing is impeccable,” Blaine kept talking as she took a few tentative steps inside, Garbo rising to greet her, “because I was _just_ about watch a movie. Care to join me?” He patted the empty space beside him.

She stood there, at the foot of the bed looking from Blaine to the empty spot and back. Blaine would have thought she looked a lot like she was gauging his words, only he had no idea how much the girl actually understood. He just hoped his disposition wasn’t in any way intimidating.

Alizée cocked her head and he shrugged.

“Your choice,” Blaine prompted.

And then she promptly turned and left the room. Garbo followed.

Blaine felt a little disappointed, because really, his dog too? Was he so despicable that not only his (caretaker, supervisor and _then_ ) boyfriend and his late sister’s French catalogue child, but also his own _dog_ had better things to do than hang around with Blaine?

Fortunately, he had no time to pursue this murky train of thought any further, because both Alizée and Garbo returned, the former carrying a bag of Blaine’s favourite cookies (Italian - Sebastian might have been a coffee snob who shunned the mere concept of an Americano, but he perpetually swore he had _nothing_ on Blaine’s cookie-snobbery), mysteriously picked out from a fully and diversely stacked cupboard.

When Blaine raised his eyebrows, the girl just shrugged and handed him the cookies so she could climb up. Garbo looked at them longingly and she and Blaine had a brief staring contest before he rolled his eyes and sighed “Fine,” upon which Garbo grabbed her special ‘bed blanket’ from a chair and settled next to Alizée in one swift jump.

“Good dog.” The blanket had been a hard-achieved compromise between Garbo and Sebastian, and Blaine made sure she stayed on it.

“Well. Welcome, ladies, to Blaine’s first ever open choice cinema. Garbo, since _you_ already chose bed, and _I_ chose to let you, I think it’s only fair we let our young lady from overseas choose the movie,” Blaine gestured from Alizée to the screen. “Here are some suggestions.”

Originally, he was going to watch a musical, an old classic like ‘Singing In The Rain’ or anything involving Fred Astaire, but a Disney was a worthy compromise, seeing as the three of them probably already resembled something straight out of a Disney picture. Great, he’s sounding like Sebastian now.

Alizée was looking carefully at the screen, and after a few contemplative moments, pointed something.

“That one? Really?” Blaine had to admit it wasn’t the most obvious choice these days, but she just nodded. “Okay then.”

Halfway through their second movie and the bag of cookies, Blaine found himself musing out loud.

“You know, we should do this more often. And when no one’s sick, too,” he said. “Although you’re very kind to keep me company. I’d keep you company, if you were imprisoned in your room.” She looked at him and he offered her a hand. “Pals?”

Her eyebrows joined together in the smallest of frowns, as her eyes darted briefly to his hand. Blaine was prepared to chatter it away but then, she opened her mouth and the most incredible thing happened.

“What is. . . Pals?” she asked, still wearing her small, confused frown.

For a few infinitely stretched moments, Blaine could only stare, as if she’d suddenly grown another head. Then he recovered.

“Uh—Pals is,” he cleared his throat, “—it’s when you’re very good friends with someone. Like you and Garbo.” His brain was still processing the fact that the French catalogue child apparently did speak English, to an extent. The said extent being only the Chosen specimens of mankind. Was Blaine now a Chosen One? Well, it certainly explained Sebastian’s nonchalant approach.

“ _Bien_ ,” the girl said and shook his hand once. “Pals.”

And then she turned her attention back to the screen where Cinderella was currently being an inconspicuous sassball. This girl was by far more knowledgeable than she let on.

It made Blaine feel light, lighter than he’d felt in weeks, as if a huge, invisible burden suddenly disappeared from his shoulders, leaving him able to finally take a deep and satisfying breath. It felt like a breath taken after a long time, and Blaine couldn’t help but replay that sensation in his mind over and over, even after the movie ended and Alizée dozed off against his shoulder, Garbo’s head in her lap.

He didn’t dare move, wanting to bask a little longer in the wonder of this new companionship, and even when Sebastian tore through the front door and towards them with a litany of “Sorry I’m so late, I brought dinner—” pausing in the doorway, Blaine could only bring a finger to his lips, smiling.

Something shifted in those green eyes in the doorway and caused Sebastian’s entire face to lose all edge it had been harbouring ever since he returned from the City of Light with a little girl, gloomier than before. And when Sebastian took Blaine’s extended hand, he also took a step forward. A first of many towards something new.

Against all odds, there was room for one more on the bed. He felt Sebastian relax when a familiar press against Blaine’s forehead deemed its temperature acceptable. He kissed a spot he could reach in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and Sebastian finally gave in, settling against his chest, Alizée and Garbo on the other side.

They were all levels of tragic, the lot of them, Blaine thought. Stuck in a limbo of fine-but-not-quite, on their way to that final stage, the stage of strength regained. So much for a Disney picture.

But at least they had a bed large enough to hold them all.

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. I hate being sick. But embracing it doubles the strength regained.


End file.
